Beauty of the Night: Part 1
by Hrymeigh
Summary: As Stoick sails with three ships to find the Nest, Astrid stows away on one of them to find adventure and prove herself. When she is shipwrecked, she is taken care of by an unexpected friend. Careful warning beforehand for ye hardcore fans out there: No Hiccstrid!
1. ᚦᛁ ᚠᛁᛚᛚᛅᚴᛁ ᛁᛏᛁᚢᛏ

"Dragon raid!" A shriek comes up from the village. A monstrous nightmare swoops down, and a blast of flames erupts from its mouth. Several buff-looking Vikings jump away from the main blast. The red-coloured nightmare lands in the middle of the village, and fires several shots over the village plaza. With its large fangs settled deep in the ground, it suddenly flames up. His skin lights upon charging a flame, and his entire body is rapidly engulfed in a seething hot maelstrom of flaming tongues.

A sturdy Viking leaps forward and stands proudly before its beak. Its fangs shimmering mysteriously white between the encasing flames. The beak of the dragon hovers dangerously at twenty foot above the ground as he is challenged by the man in front of him. A disapproving scowl follows a fuming exhaust from the monstrous nightmare's nostrils. Before him appears a sturdy Viking, hammer in hand and a face glowing from the flames around him. One of the sturdiest Vikings of Berk, this is. The parts not covered in hair steaming with sweat and charging with inner rage and fury. Not just anyone dares approach a nightmare. The Viking wears a dark green tunic under his brown armour, but above all there is unmistakeable the long light brown beard and moustache underneath the stern face of the chief.

Because only the best ones go after these dragons. The chief walks forward and thrusts his hammer against the nightmare's beak. The dragon douses his flames, only to charge a blast deep inside his innards. No more than sparks come forth however. A grin forms visibly in the firelight on the chief's face. A wide grin underneath the nose hairs sticking out.

"You're all out of fire!" the chief says. Once more he thrusts his hammer against the beast's beak causing a massive blow. Several fangs fly out of its jaw and land on the ground beside the massive reptile. A painful yelp escapes the beast's air hole as it turns tail. It tries to take off, but not before several men catch it under a great net.

Well, that was that. Now, back to business. Fires are raging throughout the village, and that is where I come up. I just spotted one of the heads of a hideous zippleback surrounding a house with highly flammable green gas. Next thing we heard was a little click, followed by an explosion. The entire house blew apart. I am rushing towards it with my bucket of water and threw the water over the fire. As luck would have it, or rather, not have it, a passing nadder blasts the house with his magnesium fire just at that time, making the wreathing tongues tower. I jump away trying to escape the sudden outburst of the explosion. I check myself. Luckily I am only singed lightly. Nothing to worry about now. "Great. That was completely useless, but at least I am taking part in protecting the village," I think. I spot a small shape running towards the smithy.

"Unlike some," I mumble to myself.

My name is Astrid Hofferson, shield maiden to my tribe, the Hairy Hooligans of the Island of Berk. I am 15 years old and, truthfully, the best warrior of the teens my age. There are 5 others that might compete for that title. Well, compete, don't make me laugh… There is Snotlout Jorgenson; I despise him. He is always full of himself, and all the time trying to get on my good side, if you catch my meaning. He has been trying to get into my pants since I was 13. Pathetic. What's more, he is a Jorgenson, so doing anything together is and will always be out of the question. Snotlout is the chief's nephew, though he acts as if he were the chief's son himself. Such a brat. Then there is Fishlegs Ingerman. A beefy Viking, but way too nerdy for my taste. He knows all statistics about every dragon we know of, and honestly it is difficult to decide which is more annoying: Snotlout's disastrous attempts at wooing or Fishlegs's continuous jabbering. That, and they are both just cowards. Doomed for bachelor life, I guess.

Next we have the Thorsten twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut. Ruffnut is the lass, Tuffnut the lad, but that pretty much sums up the difference between the two. Both bumbling buffoons, playing pranks on whatever unwitting Viking happens to pass by. They are inseparable. They are probably the two most idiotic Vikings of this island, and if they are not wreaking havoc around town, they are bashing each other's heads in during a how-many-copies-of-me-do-I-see contest, but at least they are serious when it comes to raids. They know their jobs and help out with fires and stuff. In these dangerous times, we rely on everyone doing their job, and even the Thorstens honour that call.

Which certainly is not the case with the last of us. Well, 'us'… He's never been part of 'us' really since we were ten or so: the son of the chief. Though you might not have guessed that if you saw him. Yes, the small scowling and hiding creature running for the smithy is none other than the heir of the tribe, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, complete and utter miscreant and disappointment to the tribe. Eight years of being an apprentice in the smithy still would not beef up those muscles and really, I feel bad for him. Honestly, I have always had a little crush on him somehow. It's strange, but I can't deny it; the worst Viking Berk has ever seen touches something soft inside me. Whenever he is not annoying me, that is. Which is quite a lot, actually. The guy can't walk through town without breaking something. Whatever came over the chief to have him apprentice with Gobber, the blacksmith of all people, eludes me, but it sure would not be the first time the smithy almost exploded. Most of the other Vikings, the whole village actually, feel bad for Stoick, having a runt as an heir. I just feel sorry for Hiccup. He tries so hard to prove himself. When I was about ten, I got my own axe. It was beautiful, a bit big at the time, but perfectly balanced and a beautiful grey-blueish shade. The wrappings were so meticulously braided I blushed the first time I held it. It was a birthday present, made especially by Hiccup. It was amazing, and I have never forgotten it. I just hope Hiccup feels the same way about me as I do about him.

Anyway, that's all it is about them. Really I can claim I am the best in everything when it comes to fighting. My weapon of choice has been Hiccup's present. It never leaves my sight, and it feels like an extension of my arm. It makes me feel invincible. One day I will be allowed into Dragon Training. One day soon, when we turn sixteen. Then I will show everyone who the best Viking is.

A low, yet piercing scream spreads across the noises of battle. A scream so terrifying, it sends even the sturdiest Vikings running. We all know it. It is not one we long to hear. It is the sound of a particularly lethal dragon, the most elusive of all; doom its infamy, the offspring of lightning and death itself. We call it the…

"Night fury!" several Vikings call out. Everybody looks up but all we see in the darkness is a purple blast hitting one of the watchtowers, completely obliterating it on impact. This dragon was nigh invisible and none saw where it went or was when the night fury is not firing is deadly blasts. At that moment a small shadow passes in front of me pushing some large thing. Well, what else to call it? A death trap? No. An experiment probably came closest. A contraption, that's what it is. I recognize the shadow hurrying between the houses. It is …

"Hiccup!?" yelled the chief, grabbing Hiccup off the ground. "What is he… What are you doing out again? Get back to the smithy." He puts him back on the ground and sends him off. My gaze follows Hiccup running the wrong way. Typically Hiccup.

The chief is, in a word, sturdy. Both in personality and in physical being. A true chief, men said about him. Well, if by that you mean he can eat two full-grown boars a day, than yes, he is a true chief. Stoick Haddock the Vast however is a great chief. The village relies on him alone. He is the best dragon slayer this island knows. He always puts the village first. Sometimes at the cost of his own son, but Hiccup seems to deal with that pretty well. Berk is proud of its chief. The strong man rises up six foot eight above the ground, and probably takes up half that number in width, but his leadership and stout voice demand the respect of everyone around him. A strong chief as the village needs, both during raids, the endless negotiations between the tribes and the equally endless winter freezes. If only his son had the same makings of a chief as he did…

Dawn is in the air. Twilight appears through the stars, slowly weakening and dimming the lights in the sky. Fires leap up high, but the rest of the teens and I are doing everything we can to put them out. Well, except for Hiccup, of course. He is nowhere to be found. A scream comes from higher up. We all look up and see a tiny figure sprinting away from a monstrous nightmare. After a second scream and the some very lucky tripping causing the shadow not to be hit by a blast from the angry fire-spewing reptile, we know who that must be. Who else could that be but Hiccup, and sure enough the sixteen-year-old lad sprints into town trailed by a furious nightmare. As he runs between the houses I see him looking around for shelter. I see him looking back. His face betrays his thoughts. He is deadly afraid of the nightmare and I can hardly blame him. He jumps behind a large pillar near the central plaza as the dragon starts spewing fire.

As the dragon engulfs the pillar in a local heatwave the chief lets out a battle cry and charges with his hammer against the side of the nightmare. A crack is heard throughout the plaza, indicating something breaking hard. The dragon yelps with a terrifyingly high pitched scream and lifts off from the ground. The crack however did not sound like a breaking dragon jaw. And surely, a few seconds later I feel a tremor. The torch, resting atop the pillar that was blasted by the monstrous nightmare breaks off and comes tumbling down. I jump aside as it continues falling further downhill releasing the dragons that are kept under nets, tumbling off the cliffs and falling on the docks, rendering them useless for the time being.

As I get up, I hear the raised voice of the chief booming over the village square.

"Stop! Just… stop!" says Stoick. "Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see I have bigger problems? Winter's almost here and I have an entire village to feed!"

Hiccup shrugs his shoulders as nonchalant as his reply: "Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don't you think?"

I can hardly contain myself. I look around, and to my great satisfaction I see some of the buffer Vikings around staring redly at their bellies.

"This isn't a joke, Hiccup!" says Stoick.

"I have to disagree with you there, chief." I think, but luckily don't say it out loud.

"Why can't you follow the simplest orders?"

I see Hiccup as stern as ever, very confident and sure of himself. "I can't stop myself, dad. I see a dragon and I have to just kill it, you know?" As he says this he makes this gesture as if he opens a rusty jam pot, obviously trying to imitate breaking the dragon's neck, but somehow I can't get the comparison out of my head. "It's who I am, dad!"

The chief sighs loudly.

"You are many things, Hiccup. But a dragon killer is not one of them. Get to the house!"

"But I really hit a night fury!" Hiccup still remains adamant. No doubts in his voice.

"Get to the house! Gobber, make sure he gets there. I have his mess to clean up."

"Aye, chief!" says the blacksmith as he starts guiding the heir of Berk off the Plaza. Something about this whole affair makes me uneasy though. Hiccup has never been one to come up with ridiculous lies before. Something is up.

"I have never seen someone mess up that badly!" comes Snotlout's sarcastic compliment to Hiccup.

"What?" Comes the disgruntled voice of Ruffnut. "Why does he get all the credit?"

"Yeah. We mess up far better!" says Tuffnut. "Or is that worse? I don't know."

"That, my linguistically inclined companion, is one of the absolute major mystifying enigmas of the etymological horrors of the awesomeness inspiring derivations of literary semiotics." Ruffnut replies.

"Never a truer word was more eloquently put forward, my confrère," says Tuffnut.

"Consœur! I am still a girl!" Ruff replies angrily.

"Really?"

Ruffnut takes the closest bucket that until recently was filled with water, and smashes it against her twin brother's face. Well, back to normal that is, I guess. For them, at least. Though I really wonder what they actually said, probably utter nonsense.

Something is definitely up. Hiccup may be a nuisance in the village. He may be a walking disaster and never where he should be. He may even be equalling the twins in damages, but he never lied about it. He always takes responsibility. He never made up stories before. So why now? Can it be that he really shot down a night fury? His father does not even consider it. Well, it does sound too ridiculous to be true. Hiccup being, well… Hiccup, grounding the offspring of lightning and death itself? It is preposterous! But then again… Well, only one way to find out. I walk out on the other teens. Fishlegs has already gone home. Snotlout, recovered from the twins' sudden rant has returned to making jokes about Hiccup. Now he started imitating Hiccup screaming and running from the fiery nightmare. I trail Gobber and Hiccup until Gobber sets Hiccup off at the chief's house.

I see they are having a little debate, with Hiccup imitating Stoick's voice, and Gobber making a failed attempt on lighten him up. Hiccup enters the house defeated.

I am now sure. I want to follow Hiccup, perhaps talk to him. I want to see this night fury!

"'Ello, lass." Gobber greets me, as he walks by. "'fraid 'e won' be much ter talk to now."

"I don't care. I'm trying anyway!" I say. Gobber looks to me with an eye raised, as if he was surprised at me saying this. Then the eyelid lowers and he continues.

"Well, I'm not 'oldin yew back. Go fer it!"

I start running towards the door. The sun now sends its first rays over the treetops of Berk and I feel the sudden sensation of the warm light upon my face. When I get to the door, I open it with a slam, and take a look inside.

"Hiccup?" I say. No response. I walk in a little further. It costs some effort. I have never entered the chief's house so boldly.

"Hic?" I say, louder now. Still no response. No Hiccup downstairs. Perhaps in his room? I walk up the stairs. "Hiccup?" I say. Upstairs, nothing either. "Damnit." I swear in myself.

He's given me the slip. He has gone out by the back door of course, as soon as Gobber let him in here.

"Well," I say to myself, as I walk back down the stairs. "At least I know where he is going. He is probably off to find the crash site of that night fury, which is probably..." I let out a sigh, "somewhere on this island."

I stop short. Looking down I now stumble on two massive feet, sheltered by sandals and socks, from which came the beefy long-haired lower legs of the chief.

"I suppose, Astrid," I hear the kind, but stern voice, "you have a very good explanation for being in my house?"

I cannot hold back a tremor going across my body. The tall and broad figure of Stoick the Vast looms over me, blocking most of the light coming from the doorway.

"Yes," I say convincingly. "I went to check on Hiccup. To see if he was alright!"

"And?"

"Well, that was why I came, chief. No other reason. Just to make sure he was alright."

O, I wish I could sink through the ground now in shame.

"And?"

I give him an uncomprehensive look.

"Is he alright?" Stoick explains.

"Yes sir!" I say, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "He's very fine. He just wants to take a nap after the whole ordeal with the nightmare."

"Good. Understandable. Well, when he wakes up, tell him to help out Gobber this afternoon. Lots of weapons need brandishing, especially after this raid."

At that, Stoick turns around and started leaving the house. Just as he stands at the porch he stops, and looks back at me.

"I am glad you look after Hiccup, Astrid. I know you like him."

At that the chief continues walking, leaving me with a bright red face. I am blushing! Why am I blushing? Do I really like Hiccup in this way? And why did I lie to the chief about his whereabouts?


	2. ᚠᚱᛁᛁᚾᛏᛋᚼᛁᛒ ᚠᚢᚢᚾᛏ

Well, this has mostly been a waste of time. I have been left red as a berry when the chief said he knew I had feelings for his son. Why does he know everything that is going on between the shores of this island? I myself am not even sure I feel like that about Hiccup. Sure, I like him. I may even have a little crush on him. Astrid, come on! Get yourself together. You're talking about Hiccup here. No, I just like him. That's all.

I am walking into the forest. I really need to get the edge off. I grab my axe that hangs on my back. The first tree I see will soon have a serious cut. I give the axe a swing and it lodges itself deep into the trunk of an oak tree. Why am I so on edge? Concentrate, Astrid! Once more I swing my axe. It hits the same tree, cutting almost halfway through in a single blow. Luckily this oak tree is not that old, or my axe would have been stuck for good. I pull my axe out of the tree, but now the tree starts shivering and I see it slowly cracking and falling to the ground. Wow. That was unexpected. I look at the grey-blue beauty in amazement. This axe never ceases to amaze me. Sure, Hiccup had recently refurbished it as an early birthday present. He offered to sharpen it last week, since dragon training would come along soon. The result is beautiful. He did so much more than just sharpen the axe. He had re-laid the axe handle, making it fit to my hand perfectly. The gleaming surfaces that had faded a little over the past six years, were polished and to me the weapon seems better than it has ever been. Truly Hiccup was a master blacksmith. Nobody knows that of course, but Hiccup the Useless was a man of many unadvertised talents. At least he knows his axes. This beauty in my hand was a great example of his skill and devotion.

I walked for about an hour trying to level my head with both my feelings and trying to understand Hiccup's strange actions during the raid, and now I stumbled across Hiccup.

"How're you doing, Hiccup? I've been looking for you for hours!" I say.

"Well, you know, doing my own stuff," Hiccup answers, "away from other people. Walking. Drawing. Alone."

"Really?"

"Yup. All by myself."

"And? Seen some special things while you were drawing alone?"

"Not really," comes the reply but I can see Hiccup's face saying something completely different. He looked… well for a lack of a better word, pensive.

"Come on. Not by any chance spotted a night fury around these parts?"

Hiccup stops walking and all colour drains from his face.

"What? Are you surprised that I know you shot down a night fury? You practically yelled it to all of Berk a few hours ago!"

"Well," says Hiccup, slowly and trying to compose himself, and continuing to walk, "Yeah, but I did not think anyone would believe me."

"Well, I do!" I say. "You've never lied to me before, and though I have to admit it does seem like a stretch, it would be even stranger if you would start lying over something like this."

"Right," says Hiccup, "That actually… makes a lot of sense."

"So, found it?"

"Uhh… Nope." he says uncertainly.

I hit him with my fist in the lower back. He flinches and groans.

"Ow! Why would you do that? Alright!" I see Hiccup eying me strangely. In his eyes there is something I have never seen before. Doubt and shame. "Well, I found the night fury, but it got loose."

"Too bad. You know how proud your father would have been if you brought him the heart of a night fury. Just imagine! Hiccup the Useless, chief disappointment of Berk, the heir nobody wants…"

"Thanks for summing that up." says Hiccup sarcastically, followed by an equally sarcastic sigh.

"Let me finish! No longer any of that. Your father would be so proud of you!"

"Yeey, Great!" Hiccup says with downcast eyes.

I think it may be better to stop talking now.

(Three days later)

Today started with several announcements at breakfast. Most importantly for me, dragon training starts today. Gobber will be teaching classes starting at the second hour. All the teens had to be there, even – to everyone's surprise – Hiccup. We all thought Stoick would never allow Hiccup in training. Especially after the last raid. He was always far too overprotective of him. But somehow Hiccup must have convinced Stoick, because now he sure is walking into the arena.

I take a good look at him. He seems to be even more uncomfortable in his attire than a yak in a bathtub. With an oversized helmet on his head and his small dagger in his hands, having no armour on at all, the sixteen-year-old looks more like a skinny training dummy, than a Viking.

"What's he doing here?" Tuffnut asks.

Room for reply there is not however, as Gobber immediately starts training. This requires my full attention. I am going to show them all I am by far the best Viking Berk has ever seen. I will prove it.

The second announcement at breakfast was of a less comfortable nature. A last expedition would leave Berk to search for the Dragon's Nest. The last one before winter closes in. Stoick announced three ships would set sail this afternoon.

Gobber's voice booms through the arena, as he paces in front of the great bolted iron doors.

"Behin' these doors are jus' a few of the many species yer will learn ter fight!"

"I'm ready," I say to myself out loud.

"The deadly nadder," says Gobber.

"Speed eight; armour sixteen." I hear Fishlegs starting.

The deadly nadder is a dragon that resembles an overgrown chicken. Its spines, which it can send flying from its tail at will, are poisonous and can pierce almost any material. Its fire is far hotter than any other dragon's, and can melt rock and metal as easily as butter.

"The 'ideous zippleback," Gobber continues.

"Plus eleven stealth times two." I really hate Fishlegs' jabbering. What does this even mean?

The hideous zippleback is a single dragon, with two tails and two heads. One head breathes a highly flammable gas. The other head lights it. Problem is how to know which head does what. Its skin makes for some beautiful leather shoes and clothing. It seems to be somewhat of an acquired taste though. Very expensive.

"The monstrous nightmare."

"Firepower: fifteen."

My brain almost cries out now: yes Fishlegs I get it. Shut up!

The monstrous nightmare is one of the fiercest dragons we know of. More than likely defeating one of them will be the final exam, reserved only for the ones who do best in training. No need to kill new recruits by setting them against a dragon they can't handle. These dragons have the most firepower of any dragon. Not as hot as a nadder's, though. And yes, they have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.

"The terrible terror."

"Attack: eight; venom: twelve."

"Will you stop that!" cried Gobber angrily at Fishlegs. Great. At least I'm not the only one to whom this jabbering was irritating and annoying.

The terrible terror. Don't make me laugh! How does that compare to all the other dragons Gobber named so far? A small dragon that lives and hunts in packs. Sure it has quite some firepower for so small a lizard and it can be dangerous when facing a herd of them. But they are hardly the stuff of legend. Some Vikings save trophies from the dragons they killed. Well, if it was a nightmare or a nadder, a wall decoration was in place. For a terrible terror… Let's just say, we have enough teaspoons as it is.

"An' the gronckle."

I can swear I just heard a voice – I'm not saying whose – whispering: "Jaw-strength eight."

The gronckle is probably the toughest dragon around. Its skin is nigh impregnable. It spits out lava and it has a nasty habit of using its tail as a very successful bludgeon.

Gobber lifts the locking pin out of its place and is about to open the doors.

"Aren't you going to teach us first?" comes the obviously terrified voice of Snotlout.

"I believe in learnin' on the job," came the straightforward reply.

Gobber opens the doors. A gronckle comes out charging and looks around to get used to its surroundings. It flies straight at some rocks on the ground, gobbling them up.

"Righ'. Wha's the first thin' you'll need?" asks Gobber.

"A shield!" I say.

"Shields! Go!" encouraged Gobber. "Yer mostest important piece of equipment is yer shield. If yer mus' choose 'tween a sword an' a shield, take the shield."

So we all grab our shields and start making a lot of noise to put off the gronckle's aim. Apparently that helps. So the rules were as follows. You get hit by a blast, you're out.

The first to get hit are the twins. Those idiots started fighting over who got which shield. One blast from the gronckle knocked them over.

I take a good look around me. Snotlout is holding firm ground, trying to make as much noise as possible. Fishlegs runs erratically through the arena with his arms flying around. The gronckle spots this as well, takes a shot and a lava blast sends Fishlegs' shield flying to the walls. Hiccup is… ah there he is! Hiding behind some timbers.

Snotlout charges at the gronckle. He gets a hit, but the gronckle, no longer disturbed by Snotlout's noises, blasts him aside.

I hear Gobber's voice over the low roaring of the gronckle.

"Snotlout, yer ou'. 'Iccup, get in there!"

And surely Hiccup does get in there. He and I now stands side by side with me facing the gronckle.

"So, I guess it's just us two?" he asks.

As if this was the right time for chitchatting!

"Nope, just you!" I answer as I see the gronckle preparing for another blast and dive out of the way. When I come to I see Hiccup has not moved at all. A blast hits Hiccup's shield. He drops it and cowers against the wall.

"'Iccup!" comes the despairing voice from Gobber.

Just in time Gobber takes hold of the gronckle and diverts the last blast away from Hiccup's head. The lava blast is not really big, but I see the cinders falling like rain over Hiccup's helmet and shoulders. Grabbing the gronckle with his hook Gobber pushes the beast back in its pen.

"Go back ter bed, yew overgrown sausage. You'll get another chance. Doncha worry."

Gobber walks towards Hiccup, and bends over him.

"Remember," he continues, "a dragon will always, always go fer the kill."

I can swear I see surprise and wonder on that little face. I can understand many emotions right now. Fear for one. Shame for being so weak in the ring, or determination, that he'd do better next time. But he seems confused. Why? Does it come to him as a surprise that dragons always kill? Everybody knows that!

Ah. Of course. The night fury! Hiccup said it had gotten away. Had Hiccup seen the beast? Had Hiccup actually seen the night fury up close before it got away? That would be some tale to hear.

But now I have other things on my mind. The ships are to leave this afternoon. And I am going to stow away on board. I just decided that. I like Hiccup, and I like dragon training. But I like adventure more. I am going to go out there. This is my chance to show that I am the best warrior of them all. I made this as a rather split-second decision, though. I still need to get on board. I guess I'll just help out loading provisions, and then secretly stow away afterwards. I just hope I won't get found out too early.

"Hiccup!" I say when he walks by. The other teens are already out of earshot.

"Astrid! How nice to be speaking to you now. I really like it. I also really have to go. Bye!" Hiccup darts away.

"Hiccup, wait up!"

Hiccup stops running.

"Three things I want you to know before I leave, Hiccup. First, …" and I hit him with the handle of my axe. "… don't ever scare me that much."

Hiccup fallen to the ground by the impact slowly crouches up.

"Why would you do that?" he says.

"Secondly, I know there is more to your story about the night fury."

Hiccup freezes in place. He tries to make some mumbling sounds.

"And thirdly, …" I kiss him on the cheek. "I like you a lot, Hic."

Hiccup's change in demeanour is hilarious. Within a few seconds he went from a hasty I-have-no-time-now-look to a surprised how-did-she-find-out?-look to a painful outch-look to a despairing and confused she-just-kissed-me-look. Hiccup's change in hue is frightening almost too. From a deathly white two seconds ago to a bright red now. Hiccup is blushing. What's more, I am blushing. I am so glad the other teens are no longer here. We'd never hear the end of it.

Hiccup slowly regains his composure, and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"I like you too, Astrid." He says in a very soft voice. "Wait, what do you mean, 'before you leave'?"

"Promise me you won't tell anyone, Hiccup!" I demand. Hiccup nods.

"Promise me!"

"I promise." Hiccup says.

"I am going to stow away on one of the ships leaving for the Nest. I am going to go out there and show them what this Hofferson is capable of!"

"What?" Hiccup says confusedly. "Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?"

"Yup. That's why I am doing it. And don't you get any ideas on telling a soul or you will get to meet the other side of my axe very intimately, whether I like you or not. I'm just telling you, so somebody knows where I went if I don't come back."

"Astrid?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me you will come back!"

"Well, you still owe me that story about the night fury, don't you…?"


	3. ᚢᚠᚠ ᛁ ᚴᚢ

"Heave. Heave. Heave." The rhythm has been steady for the last few hours, ever since we left port. The simultaneous splashing of the oars into the water, the repetitive jolt forwards, the lifting of all the oars, and the breaths of the men all in sync. Above it all comes the more than annoying voice of chief Stoick's second-in-command, Spitelout Jorgenson. He is Snotlout's father, and head of the second most important clan, House Jorgenson. As such he is – unfortunately – in charge of this vessel.

I move around a bit to find a space more comfortable. I have been laying with my back against one of the timbers in the bow, and honestly, with the ship's heaving and the water crashing up the ship's exterior, that takes its toll on one's back. Before me stand a lot of buckets, crates and chests containing weapons, food and fresh water.

However did I get to be on this ship! Why does Spitelout have to be on the same ship as I? This morning I was in Dragon Training, almost seeing Hiccup getting killed by a gronckle. Now I am on my way among an expeditionary force to Helheim's Gate with only one goal: to find the Nest and destroy it.

Right after I told Hiccup I would do this and swore him to secrecy, I went to the docks. There were a lot of people walking to and fro, busy as ants to get all the provisions aboard. The chief spotted me looking at the scene, and asked me to help out. I did so gladly. Else, I would probably have offered it anyway. I wanted to get aboard a ship. I took up the nearest barrel of salted fish, lifted it and carried it to the docks. That still was quite heavy, but I am a tough girl, I could handle that.

Of much use my efforts cannot have been, though, because when I got to the docks, and set the barrel somewhere in the back of the holds, I heard a Viking called Munch say, "That's all there is, Spitelout. We're done. The chief will be down 'ere any minute."

"Good" answered Spitelout in that horrible voice of his. He turned to the men aboard the three ships.

"All aboard! Prepare to weigh anchor. We leave in a minute!"

"Aye!" I heard the crews of the three ships through the ship's hull.

This was the moment of truth. This was the last moment to decide. Do I stay here on the island and continue Dragon Training? Or do I stay here where I am now, on this ship, preparing to sail for what probably will be one of the biggest adventures of my life?

"Sorry, Hiccup!" I thought. "I'll be back… maybe."

I just hope he will survive the rest of Dragon Training. He almost got himself killed this morning. This afternoon there would be another session, training with the beasts, everyone hoping to be chosen for the greatest honour of them all; to kill one's first dragon before the entire village.

Well, I am about to get far more than that. Here I sit now, on a slowly, but steadily moving ship, hiding behind the crates and barrels of provisions and weapons. I decided upon leaving it would be safer to hide behind the weapons. After all, they are only needed when we spot something to fight. And if I get found out then, it does not matter, because they will not have the time to berate me or to send a ship home for me. So there are two options now actually. We can actually find the nest – I really hope so – or we are hindered from getting there, which can only be if we are attacked. Either way, fighting guaranteed!

An hour after we left, my situation did get a little sticky. Spitelout himself came down into the holds to grab a little food. Some bread and a little salted fish, but he came way too close to my hiding spot taking that. Luckily he never spotted me.

So here I am. It has been some four hours of sailing time since we left Berk. The ship's continuous heaving, though I know it carries me towards adventure, sets me on edge. There is no fresh air here. It is getting stuffy, and yet I get the distinct feeling that the air is getting much cooler as we travel on. There is nothing around me to indicate we are moving at all. Only the regular shouts from topside and the noises of waves and water spray and the thrust against the ship's hull. Nothing seems to move from the inside, and yet I see the timbers and crates sort of move in my mind. Only my body disagrees, feeling progressively lousier with each passing minute. This feeling is tugging at my innards and slowly making me feel a little dizzy.

Come on, Astrid! Get a hold of yourself!

I guess sitting in this awkward position for hours does not help. Slowly I get up. I feel my belly tightening, and my head starts aching wildly. I try to stand up straight but I lose my balance and fall stumbling to the floorboards. I crawl back to my hiding spot but before I even reach it I feel my stomach turning and twisting. The reflex is unbearable as I taste the sour bitterness of the acetic remains of the bread I ate at lunch. As the pressure grows in my gullet I can no longer withstand my natural reflexes as the oesophageal muscles contract and send the contents of my stomach up into my mouth. I close my eyes and bend over as the grey-brown mash squats onto the wooden floorboards. Vomit continues pouring out of the wrong side of the feeding system for about twenty seconds, when one reflex is replaced by another. My mouth clears and feels dry as I start gasping for breath. My hastened breathing actually makes me feel a bit better, but I dare not attempt sitting up again.

Once more I feel a surge coming from my stomach, and giving in, I fell the remainder of my breakfast and lunch passing over my tongue, unwillingly activating the taste buds and making me realize even more how terrible this all feels to me. Once more the acetic contents are placed unevenly over the wooden frames of the longship. I decide I need some water. Fresh water helps, they say. I try sitting up and to my surprise no vomiting this time. Luckily this was it, I hope… I try out several buckets and barrels nearby, finding swords, axes and dried haddocks. Finally I found a barrel containing fresh water. I splash some on my face to clean myself up. Cupping my hands I manage to drink some water. That was it for today I guess. I feel terrible, I just vomited and there is nothing I can do now. I know what I need: fresh air, but so far I have to manage with fresh water, salted fish and dried fruits. I cannot risk showing myself above decks, and getting caught reaching for fresh air.

Light slowly faded and between the continuous movements of the oars I hear Spitelout shouting to another ship.

"Chief, we should drop anchor here. Depth here is only eight fathoms, no risk for whales and scauldrons."

I can't hear what Stoick answers, but I can guess the gist of it.

"No, Stoick! We need the men when we get to the Nest."

I feel my head grow heavy, and drop to the ground.

"… young missy! What in the name o' Thor are you doin' 'ere? Wake up, and come over 'ere!"

I wake up as I feel a nasty stinging pain on my left temple, but it wasn't from the sea sickness. I open my eyes. In the dark I see a plump man hovering above me. I notice a movement to my left, but fail to recognize it in time. It hits me, hard, on the side of my head. I try to stand up and hit back, but my legs give way and I fall to my knees. In the dim light I see the very angry face of Spitelout Jorgenson.

I try to scramble to my feet again but before I even have chance of standing upright, another blow comes down on me. A little lower this time, as I get hit in the side.

"What in the name o' Thor do you think you're doin', little missy?" Spitelout practically yells at my face from a foot away. I can barely speak and once more try to stand upright. "This goes pretty much as expected, though," I think to myself. They must all think I got myself in a terrible mess.

After a while stumbling I get to my feet and stand up in quite a stable manner. The ship still heaves but I get the distinct feeling no-one is at the oars, because there is no repetitive jolt pulling me forward every now and again. I look at Spitelout.

"I am sorry, Mr. Jorgenson."

"Sorry!? Is that all you have to say?"

Spitelout grabs me by my shoulder and pulls me from my hiding spot behind the crates. He drags me over the floor and unto the ladder leading to the main deck. I try to get a firm footing to at least manage a walk upstairs, but I get half-carried, half-dragged over the ladder sports which hurts my back a lot.

He throws me down in the middle of the main deck.

"Sorry!?" he fumes. "Do you realize what could have happened? Do you realize what you did to your parents? You can't be here. This is a fight for Vikings."

I stand firm once again and look him straight in the eye.

"I am a Viking! I am by far the best of everyone my age."

"Aye, you can do fine with an axe, but you're still no match for my son, and definitely not ready to be 'ere. And from the looks of it down below you literally and figuratively don't have the stomach for these expeditions. You should be home. You're lucky to even be allowed into dragon training. You're still a girl and there is no way you will ever be a warrior!"

"What!?" I yell at him, surprising even myself at my ferocity, "Snotlout? I can take him with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back! I am better than the rest and I am going to prove it! Give me the first dragon and I will split its head in two before you can say 'Oy, oy, oy!' Nobody can stop me, not even you. There is no way you can turn back now. I am going to get out there and I will show you all that this 'girl' is capable of!"

Twilight slowly illuminates the ship and I see a walking plank connecting two ships. From there a vast shape walks towards us.

"No, you won't!" Spitelout spits in my face as he talks, "You well get back in the hold where you came from. You might as well clean it too."

"What? Because I am a girl, I get to clean the hold? Never!"

"No, you clean the hold because you are the only one who messed it up in the first place. Bucket! Get Astrid downstairs and tie her up. Make sure she's going nowhere!"

"No, Spitelout," The sudden deep booming voice of Stoick the Vast startled his half-brother. "Keep her here. If you keep her down, and the ship is makes water, she's trapped. We are getting close, mind that."

"Aye, chief."

I want to thank Stoick but as soon as I look at his face I shut my opened mouth. Stoick was livid. Better not to say anything anymore and do as I am told.

"Astrid!" he says to me. I look at him. "Now I hope that one day you may become my daughter-in-law. Start acting like it! Get the hold cleaned – by Odin I don't even want to know what you did down there - …"

"She …" Spitelout begins.

"Zip it, Jorgenson." Stoick says, not even looking away. His stern and furious eyes locked in place keeping me as if in chains.

"And after you cleaned it, you will stay on the main deck, near the mast, and keep out of the way. Understand?"

"Aye, chief," It is all I can say.

He walks back to the plank, and starts sniffing the air.

"Ah, yes. We are close."

He walks across and lifts the walking plank.

As I look around me in the gathering light, I see the ships forming over the waves. The three ships are stuffed with Vikings. The shield-layered boards are tipped with the stingy helmets of Berk's villagers. Each oar stands ten foot high, erect over the side the ship, the sails bulging above them. The insignias of the Dragon's Bane of Berk floating in the wind. The red dragon, pierced by the sword.

I hear Stoick yelling orders to the other ships, and as one man, the Vikings take up their oars and in one motion the rows of powerful muscles relax as the oars lower into the water. Together they pull and the water is pushed past the ship, sending a small jolt through the vessels. The oars are lowered into the water, are pushed through the water, lifted and returned to their starting positions, smooth as well-oiled machinery.

The vessels slowly increase speed and make their way further in a north-westerly direction. I much enjoy the sea breeze as it lifts my spirit and all weariness and unease I felt below is washed away with the first spraying of the waves on the bow. I stand there for over an hour when I feel the wind lower, and I see the sails fall down flat.

Well, not much to do now. I descend across the stairs and grab a piece of cloth from the bow. Drenching the cloth into the buckets with seawater, I start cleaning the floor. I got what I wanted, at least. I got to stay on this ship and well, when we come to it, I will get to fight these devils and nobody is going to stop me.

"Hard to starboard. Find the wind!"

Spitelout responds as he should, "Aye chief. Hard to starboard."

The ship suddenly turns to the right and I lose my footing on the stairs. Just in time, I manage to grab the top step and keep to my feet. Losing wind in the sails means we need to change direction, perhaps the wind will catch up again.

I get downstairs again, grab a piece of cloth and look for the nearest bucket of water. After drenching it inside it, I ledge the cloth on the top of a four foot pole and start sweeping the floor with it. Only a few hours it is, I guess, before we reach the edge of the map; the nest of the dragons, from whence no Viking has ever returned.


	4. ᛚᚢᛋᛏ ᛅᚾᛏ ᛅᛚᛚ ᛅᛚᚢᚾᛁ

**Author's Note:**

 **Sorry it has been a while. Busy at school as always. Note for later. My last story I wrote each day 1-2 chapters. I plan to make this story better and more of a… well, … story, so it takes a bit more time to make it so. I hope you enjoy this nonetheless…**

 **And yes, chapter names will always be in runes. I just love the look, and this way they don't immediately give away the contents.**

Chapter 4: ᛚᚢᛋᛏ ᛅᚾᛏ ᛅᛚᛚ ᛅᛚᚢᚾᛁ

It had been two hours since we lost wind in the sails when a quiet breeze started blowing. Though hardly enough to get us to move again, it did return to us the feeling that we were on our way again. I sat on the bow of the ship, watching the men steering and rowing the ship. I turned around and saw naught but a blue low-rippled ocean disappearing in the sky at the horizon. The line of the horizon all around us was veiled as if by a haze. I love the way the slow winds flow through my hair, the smelling the spray of the salty seawater as our longship pierces through the ocean surface. After half an hour or so, I went down again to check up on the stored wares. Spitelout had decided that, since I was aboard anyway, I could as well have a job here.

Allright. Five barrels of fresh water; one barrel of fish in brine; one barrel of dried fish; one barrel of fruit – mainly apples and berries; one crate of vegetables – parsnip, cauliflower and lettuce – and three crates full of bread. Most of it still untouched. I am glad I have finished the count.

Just as I go upstairs again, I notice something odd. Now there is no wind anymore to bulge the sails. In fact, the sails are nowhere to be seen. A thick white fog has appeared all around us. The mist horns blow every two minutes, and we still hear the return signal from the other two ships, coming from somewhere off the port bow. Apart from the foghorn being blown, it is utterly quiet on board. No man dare speak, and as tongue-tied as they are, so vigilant are the expressions on the Vikings' faces. No oar stirs, the water slowly passes by the ship, carrying it with her on its slow current.

Spitelout steps up and orders everyone back to their places, and within ten seconds the steady rhythm of peddling oars returns. A short signal is given – three short blasts, and one long blast at the end, signalling we started rowing again. I hear similar sounds from the other ships. To stay out of the way of the muscular men, I sit myself on the prow and look ahead in the empty white void.

My brain sets off an alarm. Something is up. Something is not right. I takes me a while to figure out what the danger is. It still looks the same everywhere around us; thick dark-white fog surrounds us and sits so heavily I cannot even see as far as the mast from where I stand. The sound is the same. The steady rhythm of the oars in the water repeats itself continually. If it were even possible, I could swear it sounded quieter than before.

Suddenly my nose agrees with my brain. Something is definitely off. The acrid garlic smell penetrates the cavities above my mouth and I recognize it immediately. Zippleback gas! I look more closely all around and notice the colour of the mist has changed from a darkened white to a slight hint of olive.

"We're under attack!" I yell at the top of my voice.

Immediately after that I hear the oars crashing down on the deck, and Spitelout running towards me.

"What? Where?" he yells back. He obviously did not notice the smell or the change in fog colour. "Astrid! Will you shut it? There is nothing here! This is not a …"

Spitelout stops short. We all hear a click, loud and penetrating through the stillness of the air. I run away from the bow dragging Spitelout with me and within a second the whole ship is engulfed with fire. There is a huge bang, and I feel myself tossed and lifted from the timbers, and burnt by the enflamed mists. I am thrown fifteen feet through the air, and land painfully on the deck, near the mast. Splinters fly everywhere. Shield rolls this way and that. Vikings yell incomprehensibly and fires rage all over the ship. I remember my axe still lies downstairs. I run to the stairs, but as I start going down, a sudden jolt sends cracking shivers through the ship's hull. I lose my footing and fall down flat on the ground of the lower deck.

I pull myself together and refuse to check if I have bruised anything – most likely though. I see my axe lying near the provisions, and I pick it up. Smoke slowly gathers in the holds and I run upstairs again. There I behold the true horrors of battle. Dragons are tearing Vikings apart as if they were but toys to them. Blood is spilt everywhere I look. Claws and fangs lie scattered across the timbers. I see a gronckle approaching me. Its eyes squinted to slits, his face murderous and his jaws open and ready to strike. I let out a battle cry and charge the dragon with my axe held high, ready to swing. Just before I hit it, a nadder's tail hits me in the side. The stinging pain makes me cringe and fall down, just as the gronckle spews his lava over my head. It misses. That was a stroke of luck. I take up my axe again, and grab the nearest great lump of wood. From there I will make my stand.

But it is already too late. The ship is lighted like a bonfire. Giant gaps were bitten in the side of the ship and she already leaned dangerously far to starboard. An attacking hubblegrunt charged the stern of the ship and it broke asunder. I grabbed hold of my piece of wood tightly as I was thrown overboard. One last look at the fast sinking ship told me I was beyond any help, or even hope of rescuing.

As soon as I touch the frigid water, my hands and arms start spasming wildly. I let go of my axe, but still manage to cling on to my timber. My entire body shivers, my heart races. After half a minute though I seem to feel fine. I do not even feel the cold anymore.

My axe is lost, it probably now lies at the sea floor. Astrid, Astrid, why are you so hard-headed! I had to go already, didn't I! I had to skip dragon training to prove myself. Well, some proving you did, Astrid. Well done! Now, here I am, alone, lying in the icy waters of the archipelago, drifting in a place never mapped; and most likely, behind enemy lines.

I know I cannot stay in the water for long without risking hypothermia and losing consciousness. I climb upon my timbers. Luckily they are about eight to nine feet long, and a few feet in width, a little curved and ideal as a raft. Part of the ship's hull most likely. I take off my drenched shirt and jumper; and drenched as it is, that does not go easily. I break off a piece of the side of my raft and lodge it vertically in the middle. The shirts I took off I hang in the wind to dry. Tying the sleeves to the surrogate mast actually made me a small sail, and allows me to do more than just float. I can't do this very long though. With my woollen shirts off, my bare breasts and back are taking the full hit from the cold air, I feel and see my nipples harden at the icy touch of the breeze. After twenty minutes I test the sail/shirt and I find it has dried enough. I dismantle the sail, and decide to use it as clothing again. As I put my shirt on, it feels cold as ice.

Next is the other half of my clothing. I take off my trousers, boots and underwear and do the same as before. I hang my trousers on the 'sort of' mast, my underwear alongside it. I put my boots in the sun, and though naked from the belly down, I lay on my raft quite comfortably, drying in the little bit of warmth that comes from the Yellow Face. The shirt is still icy, and sends shivers down my breasts and back, but I can deal with it. I am from Berk after all. A place where it snows for nine moons a year. I think I can handle a bit of cold. For now, at least.

First thing to check now is if I have bruised or sprained anything. Cooling might not really be necessary, but I need to know what to look out for. One by one I test my muscles. My neck is fine; so are my arms. My lower breast hurts a lot, I must have bruised a rib crashing down on the deck. My back had gotten quite a beating, but nothing seems wrong now. It does hurt, but I can't see it, so it doesn't matter. Legs: fine. Buttocks, belly: all fine. Left foot. That hurt a lot! Right foot, nothing. Net result: one sprained ankle and at least one bruised rib. Hardly the stuff of legend. Not even a scar.

Once more I feel my back. It does hurt a lot. That nadder's tail is stronger than it seems. I take off my shirt again to better reach for the painful spot. The shirt is bloody. How could I have missed that the first time? A single red lash across the blue backside of my shirt. I feel my back again, and reach the right spot. The cut is not that deep, and the lashes are not deep. But they will need to be fixed. Lucky me! A scar after all. I take my shirt, and rip it is strips. I tie the strips together and twist it around my back and belly, just under my breasts and armpits. Three times around, and I am through with the cloth. I put my jumper back on and try and stay warm by hugging myself. Still, my trousers are not dry yet, so the cold creeps up from below.

Fifteen minutes later, I decide my trousers and woollen undies are dry enough, and put them back on. They feel icy, and stiff, and so does my body. I look around. The mists are still strong all around. I can't see farther than a few hundred feet. No way to see any land. What's worse, it is still daytime, so no stars to guide by. Even the sun is veiled.

My back seriously hurts. I try touching it, but that stings even more. It seems to get worse. I decide to take a nap. I know how dangerous it is, alone and lost to go to sleep, inches from the freezing water, but my body needs the time to heal, or I will never make it. There is a little bit of water on the bottom of my raft. I taste it. It is salt. That's another problem. I need to get fresh water somehow. I turn over with my back facing upwards. No salt water in my wounds. It does not take long before my eyelids grow heavy and I fall asleep.

I am not dead.

I am not dead?

I pinch myself.

I am not dead!

That realization takes a while to process. I slowly open my eyes. At least, I try. I ache all over, but eventually I manage to open my eyes to small slits. I look around and see nothing but darkness. As my eyes get used to my surroundings, to the north I discern a faint blueish tint. The nights in this season are not particularly long, and a faint sun glow remains visible just around the northern horizon all night . The sea has calmed and my makeshift raft gently rides the low waves with the currents.

As I look up, I see the true beauty of the night. The stars illuminating the darkness in its many forms and constellations. The moon hangs low to the southwest, as just a small crescent. Millions upon millions of stars becomes visible, and for a small time, make me forget the pain in my back and the fact that I am lost at sea. The seconds of staring at the heavenly lights turn to minutes. The minutes turn to hours. I slowly watch as the moon sets and the blue veil of the sun creeps eastward, waiting for its turn to rise above the horizon. It is just magical. Occasionally a shooting star would appear, and the short flash would be over before I even realized I saw it. I see the stars move, in every colour, ranging from red to blue. Slowly the blueish veil in the northeast grows stronger and illuminates the sky, making the utter black change hue to a deep, deep blue. The stars twinkle, but barely noticeably so in the still air. It looks like a frozen cap locked over the earth, slowly turning past the horizon. So beautiful, but so unreachable.

The last thing I notice before I fall asleep again is the first rays of many-coloured light reaching far overhead. Arvendil's fire early in the morning lights the seas for miles around, and behind and under it, far away to the northeast the red and yellow arms of the sun stretch out clearing the way for the fiery candle to ascend over the sky in a majestic arc. It's all I remember, and I feel at peace. Such a sight to behold. No worries, no problems, no pains. Just me, wee me and all around me the beauty of the twilight and the dawn

I shiver as I wake up again. My clothes are torn, hardly veiling anything. I lie down on a piece of jetsam on a beach of rough gravel, black as ash. I have found land!

I carefully listen for noises but nothing comes to my ears. Just the small and soft sounds of running water. I crawl towards the sound. I open my eyes, and I see a little stream plunging down from a cliff somewhere above me. A pond lies at the bottom of the cliffs and the waterfall. A wee river flows out of the pond towards a bed of clay and rock, just a few dozen feet away from where I lie. I gather my strength and crawl towards the water, put my head into it, not even worrying enough to cup my hands first. I need fresh water. Greedily I gulp up as much water as I can.

As soon as I am sated, I feel strong again. I also feel hungry. I bend my knees to stand up and push myself off the ground. A sever jolt of pain runs through my back, and I collapse in agony onto the ground, losing my consciousness in the process.


End file.
